


Penance

by AlasPoorYorcake



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, Promptfic, friends and sadness, technically darkstache???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 10:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13568505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlasPoorYorcake/pseuds/AlasPoorYorcake
Summary: Prompt: "Penance."





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Penance." Angst.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything in relation to Mark Fischbach.

* * *

 

“You always did tend to work late, didn’t you?”

Another late night, another load of work. And, apparently, another late-night visit.

“All work and no play can make Damien tired,” the man at the door huffed genially, gaze pinned on the figure behind the desk. “Are you sure you’ll survive the day without sleep?”

“Will,” the other man greeted him without looking, scanning a folder in front of him. “I don’t need sleep--”

“--it’s for the people you serve, and the people who serve you. I remember.” The colonel bustled quietly into the room, taking one of the guest seats in front of the desk. “Ooh, pleather.”

“Why did you come here?” The man behind the desk sighed, scribbling on a paper in front of him, progressing through a full stack. He didn’t spare his sudden guest a glance.

“To bug you, of course,” Will chuckled. It was a broad, full sound that appeared to fill the room, warm its dark corners. “Or, perhaps, just to check up on an old friend.”

“It’s not appreciated,” the busy man’s scribbling became stiff, but he still didn’t look up. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to finish this as quickly as possible.”

“Of course,” the colonel said, falling silent. He crossed his legs at the knees, and placed his hands on top. After a minute of silence and scribbling, he leaned in and murmured, “Is this good enough, or shall I entertain a corner of the room?”

The pen slammed down hard on the desk. Will blinked, and suddenly it was back in his friend’s hand, signing a dotted line with practiced fluidity. The busy man remained silent, but it was obvious by the tension in his jaw that he was barely keeping himself that way. Will swallowed thickly, suddenly turning his expression upward.

“Perhaps this would go more smoothly if you would look at me,” he said to the wall behind his friend.

“You should leave,” the man said to his desktop. After a beat, his pen lifted, hovering mid-air. “...Before I take your advice.”

“Hogwash,” said Will. “I’m not leaving you here, all alone.”

“You already have.” He squeezed the pen tightly in his quivering fist. “You already  _ did _ . Now go.”

“Not until you look at me,” the colonel demanded softly, putting his elbows on the table and leaning forward onto his forearms. “Then I’ll leave. I promise.”

“Liar,” the other man immediately called, then looked up. His gaze trailed the outline of the other man, unable to tear away from his eyes once they landed there. “...You hurt to look at.”

“One could say the same for you,” Will huffed, and the other man’s mouth twitched. Both of their expressions fell simultaneously. “Though, I suppose, me being a hallucination and all, you might’ve meant that a bit more literally.”

“No, it… it’s always hurt to look at you, real you,” the man said, his voice tight. 

“Strange. That almost sounded sentimental.” Will tilted his head curiously, some part of his tone blindingly smug. “You insist you’ve killed them, but you can still feel them, can’t you?”

“No. Not them,” Darkiplier corrected himself softly, shuffling his shoulders in discomfort. “Remnants of their thoughts, their feelings. Nothing real.”

“Of course not,” the man scoffed, his mouth twisting oddly. “Summoning a guilt-induced hallucination rarely denotes true emotion, is that it?”

“It’s not real guilt. Just an impression left by… them,” the ego blinked slowly, visibly taking in the man before him. “After what happened, guilt is… to be expected.”

“And yet, you still conjure me over Mark,” the colonel chuckled sardonically. “What must that say about me?”

“It means Mark’s an asshole,” Dark spoke before he could stop himself. “...And they missed him too much.”

“Well, then, I suppose I should just count myself lucky--” the colonel rose from his seat, gesturing the other man to follow suit, “--that you love me enough to let me go all these nights.”

“I… I wouldn’t, if I had the choice,” the man’s expression cracked, his aura doing the same. “Why didn’t you ever give me a choice?”

“That’s a bit rich, coming from you. Weren’t you the one so concerned why we have to choose in life?” the colonel pointed out, then sighed. “I’m not here for you to keep, old friend. I’m here as your penance.”

“Self-imposed penance,” Dark whispered to himself, and his aura snapped ominously. “It’s not fair, is it?”

“Life is rarely fair,” the colonel smiled sadly. “That’s what makes it crazy.”

“I… you don’t have to go,” Darkiplier murmured, reaching for the colonel but stopping just shy of touching him. They both knew he couldn’t. “I- stay a little longer. Please.”

“You know I can’t, love. This isn’t one of our dinner dates,” the colonel chuckled, his form already fading. “Goodbye, Celine. …Damien.”

Then he was gone. Slowly, Darkiplier sank back down into his seat, palms down flat on the table top. They curled into tight fists, and he abruptly slammed them down onto the table once, twice, papers and utensils and items rattling in time with his honed rage. Then he took a deep breath, stopped himself from looking up, and grabbed his pen.

He had work to do.

* * *

 


End file.
